READ MORE FROM OUR “MILK” FEATURE HERE.
If there’s one thing that wasn’t on my 2024 bingo card, it was standing face to face … er, udder with a cow on a cold morning outside of Milton, Wisconsin.
But nonetheless, that’s where I ended up, standing in the parlor – that’s what dairy farms call the place where they milk the cows – with gloved hands and a cow’s tuchus in my face.
Technically, there were 24 cow butts in two rows. I walked down the middle aisle with Kristen Metcalf, the farmer from Glacier Edge Dairy who so kindly let me – someone who doesn’t like getting dirty, being near large animals or even drinking milk, for that matter – step into the trench and give cow-milking a try.
Tell us who you’d pick to be a Betty this year!
Start by wiping the sand and manure off the teats, she told me. I’m sorry, sand and what? Then wash each teat with this orange soap that comes in a funny little squeeze bottle. This part’s kind of fun. Wipe the teats, which she called the “quarters,” again. Then check each teat’s milk for blood or anything unusual. Okay, I think this is the moment everyone prepared me for: the squeeze and pull.
Except, y’all – it did not work! It’s more of a squeeze, twist and pull. And it turns out that teats are not as squishy as everyone kept telling me. Metcalf kindly corrected my form and we were back in business.
Next, push the start button on the automatic milking machine and attach its flashlight-sized cylinders to the teats, and you’re good to go. These are hooked to hoses that take the milk through pipes to a tanker that gets picked up by a semi-truck daily.
The milk was flowin’, the cow was happy, and I took my first breath since stepping foot in that parlor. Will I ever milk a cow again? Good lord, I hope not. But I walked away with a new appreciation for what farmers do, and a new understanding of where all the dairy I love eating so much begins its journey.
